"There have been concerning reports of a certain faction rising within the border settlements, Chief. A group that has taken to calling themselves the Hands of the Makers." A voice says, followed by a round of approving murmurs.

Another voice takes its time to answer, but when it does it is bassy and deeply grave in the way only an older man's could be. "We are aware of this group. Our conjoined intel operations with the Rift Containment Office is monitoring the situation even now."

A chorus of voices rises up, but one stands out from the rest.

"Surely the possible threat they present to the United Cities constitutes a more proactive action than simply monitoring the situation!" It protests, and the chorus of voices rises in agreement. "Residents of the United Cities have reported seeing members wearing their symbol as close as Hurghada!"

It isn't until the voices quiet down that the Chief responds. "We have already detained certain members of this organization for questioning. I assure you, the situation is well in hand. Now, I'll take the next question."

-Panel Interview with the United Cities Chief of Police, Matthew Ferrera, 11,006 PR

Fiona loosened her tie as she settled down onto a small couch in the private meeting room, one of many in the Sacison Rift Containment Office. Beside her, Bill had his arms folded over his chest, his bulky form straining against the seams of his suit.

Across from her, sitting on another couch, was a nuan male with dark grey hair and pale silver eyes. His stubble indicated a day or two without shaving, but the bags under his eyes suggested more than a few days with lack of good rest. His leather jacket barely concealed the power armor he was wearing, something that drew her attention.

"You always have that on?" Fiona asked, crossing one leg over the other and folding her hands on her knee. The detective nodded, sipping coffee from a paper cup. It was the least they could give him, haggard as he looked.

Caliban looked down at his power armor, chuckling wryly. "It's how I sleep at night, knowing I have this on me." He admits, and Bill nods sympathetically from the side. Fiona herself taps her circlet, skimming over information she had already memorized in the past day.

"You have a very decorated past, Detective Caliban." She remarked, her eyes flicking between his face and the picture on his file. "Class four. Retired with high distinction from the Rift Containment Office, hired and promoted nearly immediately to the rank of Sergeant in the Niminir PD. Recommended for the position of detective after just two years. Married, divorced, then remarried and…" She trailed off, not quite having the heart to finish her statement, but the detective seemed to notice her hesitation.

"It's alright, it was a few years ago now." He said quietly, though there was an edge to his tone that suggested otherwise. "I see you did your research on me. Guess I shouldn't have expected less, I used to be in your same position."

Fiona nodded, though she didn't look pleased at the comparison. "It also says that you were dismissed from your position just a few years ago, due to excessive use of force on mutated individuals. One case of which would have permanently paralyzed one of your victims, if they hadn't been rushed to a hospital en route. Relocated to Burstin, to pick up the slack as a competent detective there. Conveniently in a population with few cases of mutation. I suppose those timelines just happen to be a coincidence?"

Detective Caliban's eyes narrowed slightly, his jaw clenching, but he took a deep breath. "Listen, Mrs…"

"Ms." She corrected. "Ms. Liraveil."

"Right. Ms. Liraveil. That was a very different point in my life, a dark one which I don't wish to relive." He said, lightly rubbing the ring on his finger. Fiona noted that he still wore it, even four years after his wife's death. "Now, to why I'm here. What we discussed over call-"

"What we discussed," Fiona interrupted, "is classified on orders far above my position. The only reason I agreed to meet with you at all was as a courtesy to a former Rift Containment Officer. Nothing more."

Caliban nodded again, though not without a suffering sigh. "So may I at least have the FOUO version, then?" He asked. Fiona glanced towards Bill, who shrugged.

"Least we can do. Guy drove a full day to get here, and without any rest seems like." He said, and Fiona sighed.

"Yes, I believe that can be done." She said, then narrowed her eyes. "But this could have been done over a secure connection at distance. You didn't have to come all the way here to get this information."

Caliban leaned back on the sofa, putting his hands in his jacket pockets. She noticed the way his gaze slid between both her and Bill. Though it appeared to be only passing observation, Fiona knew he was analyzing everything about them both, picking apart their body language and looking for the slightest hints of anything he could pry into.

Like all RCOs, she knew that habit never left, even after retirement.

"Like you said, Burstin PD is what I was assigned to." He said. "Now, Burstin's a small town. People that live there are small town too. Do you know how many cases of murder I get there?"

"No. How many?" She humored him, and he held up two fingers.

"Two. In the three years I've been there, there have been two murders. One was a domestic violence case, and another was a fresh muti- mutant." He hurriedly corrected the slur to its proper term as both Fiona's and Bill's expressions hardened. "When I was stationed in Niminir, we'd see two cases an hour. Theft? Assault? Those numbers are higher, but still very manageable when compared to Niminir. Now, how many missing person's cases do you think I get?"

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

When neither of the two Officers replied, Caliban closed his fingers. "Zero. Genuine missing persons cases, at least. In the past three years, there have been zero genuine cases of missing persons. Couple of runaways, sure. Kids that didn't come home when they were supposed to. They were all found within twenty four hours."

"The point, Detective. I believe this has to eventually lead to a point." Fiona snapped. He had clearly won no favors with the almost slur he'd said.

"My point," He stressed, "is that in three years, there have been zero people reported missing in Burstin, and have stayed missing, for longer than forty eight hours. And then, just a few days after a quarantine was placed on a route that leads through it to Mackadon, five people were reported to be missing. That was a week and a half ago now."

At this, both Fiona and Bill didn't let any emotion pass their expressions. They knew Caliban would pick up on it, because they would have.

He studied their faces, his gaze unwavering, before clicking his tongue. "I believe that whatever that quarantine was for made its way to Burstin, and… disappeared five of its residents. And I believe that whatever it was made its way to Sacison."

"Well then detective, I believe you'll be happy to have believed wrong. And more than happy to know that containment was successful." Fiona said, and Caliban scoffed.

"Don't give me that shit." He snarled, leaning forward. Bill uncrossed his arms, ready to step in, and Fiona waved a hand. Caliban didn't so much as look at him. "There were signs of Rift Entity exposure in the town."

Finally their carefully crafted masks of apathy cracked, just the slightest amount. It was only a glance between the two of them, but Caliban noticed it. And Fiona cursed inwardly when she realized that he did.

"You're certain?" She asked, and Caliban nodded.

"More than certain. My Core Ability allows me to see certain events in the past. And what I saw was definitely of the Rift variety." He said, once more leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest. "Now, if you wouldn't mind, I would like to know what the fuck took or killed people in my town. One former Rift Officer to another."

Fiona chewed her bottom lip, and Bill finally sighed, walking over to take a seat next to her. His frame took up most of the couch, but Fiona was small enough that it didn't matter. "What I'm about to say doesn't leave this room, understand?" He demanded in his deep, gravelling voice, and Caliban nodded.

Bill let out a deep breath, before tapping on his circlet. Fiona recognized it as him turning off its recording function, and she did the same. "Almost a month ago, a group of Academy Selectees went to a forest along the Mackadon route for a hunting exercise. They were told that they were allowed to keep the Cores they earned. Kids, each of them, the oldest no more then sixteen. It was a low class forest, nothing they shouldn't have been able to handle."

"What they didn't know," Bill continued, "was that there was an Androtech lab in the forest. One that had had a containment breach. A class seven entity that had walked straight out of a Rift made by one of Androtech's experiments."

Caliban stiffened, his face going pale with horror. "Class seven?" He breathed, and Bill nodded. "Were there any survivors?"

Bill nodded. "There were, but they had been… momentarily compromised. It was a category six, with notable cat two abilities. Now, the class seven Rift Entity hasn't been located, but the Rift is still active there. Containment is still underway as we speak, though the route has been cleared of its quarantine. The forest, however, has been raised to a class four on average, with five's having been observed in the area. But this was only after all but one of the Selectees had died. I can't tell you any more than that, because we don't know any more than that. And what we do know is top secret."

Caliban seemed to hesitate, before he tapped his own circlet. An image sprang into the air, of a kid with obvious signs of mutation and a large man laughing as he stomped on a can. "You wouldn't happen to recognize either of these figures, would you? Any reports that put them near the quarantine?" He asked.

The duo studied the image for a few moments. They looked between each other before Fiona shook her head. "No, I'm afraid we don't." She replied. "Now, is that all of the information you needed?"

Caliban tapped his circlet, taking their answer at face value as the image disappeared from the air. But there was a gleam in his eyes. One that made both Fiona and Bill uncomfortable. He nodded, standing up, and they did so as well.

"Yes, that information has helped me a lot. Thank you very much." He said, nodding to them both, and they returned the nod. When he walked out, Fiona scratched her head.

"You saw his eyes too, right?" She asked Bill, who nodded.

"Yeah. Something in him changed." He remarked, pursing his lips. "But now that he has his information, he's no longer our problem."

Fiona nodded her head absently, then scowled. "As long as he doesn't cause any problems in Sacison. Fucking genists, I can't stand them. You heard how he almost called them muties."

-

Caliban had found the fire causing his smoke alright. He'd run a search through the Sacison PD's database of any Joeys who had a trucker's license, and had narrowed it down to three. And of those, only one had an ID that resembled the person in the picture Oscar had shown him.

Turned out he was married, and had two sons. Gaster Gruschwald and Joey Waffles. The former had a birth certificate to his file and a clear record. The latter had been finalized for adoption into the family just last night, during his drive to Sacison. It was late afternoon, and he was in his cruiser, already heading to the address in his file.

His conversation hadn't been as helpful as he would have liked, but he at least had confirmation that there was a containment failure in the quarantine. The entity that was meant to be contained was a class seven, and one that had category two abilities. It might have explained Oscar's reluctance to tell him the truth, if psionic manipulation was a part of the equation.

And whoever the kid was, even if he wasn't necessarily part of the quarantine, the detective was certain that he was connected to it somehow.

Besides, he was a mutie. One with an odd name, sure, but a monster by any other name was still a monster. And he knew the old adage about birds and their feathers.

Caliban idly looked around, taking in the crowd of people walking along the sidewalks as he came to a stop, along with every other car in the late afternoon traffic. He found himself reminiscing about his time in Niminir while idly brushing his thumb along his ring. He'd grown up and lived most of his life in the city, but circumstances had pushed him into his small town position.

Not that he minded, of course. The people there were pleasant enough, and-

He froze, not quite believing what his eyes were seeing as he looked at a trio of teenagers walking along with the crowd. He ignored the blaring horns from the cars behind him as he focused on their group.

In the middle was a tall, chubby kid with caramel colored skin and glasses. He was talking to a young blonde girl, though the way she carried herself immediately alerted Caliban that she had extensive combat training. And trailing just a bit behind them was a smaller teen who was looking around at everything with fascination, every bit the picture of a border settlement bumpkin, with wolf ears and a tail.

The detective hurriedly drove forward, making a turn onto the street they were walking beside and following the traffic. Because despite the nearly impossible odds of spotting them, he recognized the kid from Oscar's photo and his identification picture.

Joey Waffles.